Come Closer
by Pyjamas
Summary: Ken sees Daisuke every day on the train, and he wants him badly. [Daiken]
1. Sight

**Title:** Come Closer  
**Chapter title: **Sight  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Digimon.  
**Notes: **Got the urge to try and do something about the block I'm experiencing for 'Dancing Queens'. I started this at about half 1 this morning. It's now half 3. Why has it taken me the better part of two hours to write less than a thousand words? Because I've spent most of the time picking at my split ends, that's why. Disgusting, I know. Ken POV. If Ken's dad's hair isn't blue, pretend it is just this once because I couldn't find anything on google to confirm it for me.

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_Week 1_

I walked past him again today.

Most days, I pretend that I don't even notice he's there. Except that's silly, because he's always there; same seat, same train, every week day. Sometimes he'll be wearing a school uniform that I've never seen on anyone else, and other times he'll be dressed casually. I don't mind either way; he makes both of them look spectacular. He wears his uniform in a way which I'm sure adults would deem a little bit scruffy, but he really makes it work. Undone buttons expose areas of his tanned skin in such a way that I can't help but sometimes let my gaze linger over him for a few seconds longer than I normally would. He pulls off the casual look just as well; his preferred attire consists of light-coloured jeans which half-hug his legs and an open shirt to show off his torso. He's well-built, probably from years of sport, and if I didn't know any better I'd swear he flaunts himself just because he knows I'll want to stare.

But I haven't stared at him once; at least, not as I've walked past him. Just the occasional glance, which I can easily justify; see, I make a point of getting onto the last carriage of the train. He sits on the carriage before the last one, facing backwards, so when he glances up to see who's coming down the aisle, he sees me. I see him too, because I can always pretend to be looking for an empty seat. This isn't always convincing, as I sit in the same place every day, halfway down the carriage from him and facing in the same direction. My journey is usually spent looking at the back of his head.

That was how I spent my train journey today. Staring at the back of his head, I mean. His hair is something quite extraordinary, and I can never get enough of studying it. Nobody else's hair puzzles me, because it's easy to tell the colour. My hair, for example, is dark blue. My mother's hair is a dull brown, and my father's is blue like mine. But this boy's hair seems to be many different colours at the same time. At a first glance it appears to be an auburn colour, as I walk closer to him it turns to more of a dark brown and when I'm about to step past him it catches the light and turns to a vivid burgundy. Since I can't tell what colour it's supposed to be, I consider my staring excused.

Other times I'll spend my journey leaning on the window of the train at such an angle that I can see his reflection in the window further down. As far as I'm aware, he's never noticed. He just sits there with his feet pointing in odd directions, either staring into space or with his eyes shut, bopping to music blaring out of a pair of headphones. He looks good both ways, but I prefer it when he's not listening to music; the bopping gets awfully repetitive after a while and I almost get tired of watching him. But when he's staring, there's variety. He might gaze out of the window, or he might just face frontward with his cheeks puffed up. There is an infinite number of little changes he can make, and it means that I can look at him without him moving about and interrupting my train of thought.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if he knew I watched him. Worst case scenario: he'd stop getting the train to avoid my stalker-like ways and I'd never see him again. That'd be terrible; it would be unbelievably difficult to find someone else as captivating as he is to look at on the long train journey home from school. There is never anybody else even remotely attractive on that train. I'd surely go mad.

Certain other outcomes I can think of are far more preferable, albeit unlikely. Every day, while I sit there staring at either the back of his head or his reflection, I conjure up a new one. They get me grinning like a mad man every single time and, on the odd, embarrassing occasion, get me hard too. It's on occasions like those that I'm glad he gets off the train a stop before I do. Then there are the days where I'll get on the train after a particularly boring day and, feeling too lazy to think of something new, I'll replay one of my favourite past scenarios in my head. Those are good because they don't require any thought.

Unfortunately, nothing like any of my nice thoughts is likely to develop. It's a shame, because I really want him. There's nobody else like him anywhere, I'm sure of it; he oozes uniqueness and it draws me in. It makes me want to touch the skin he loves so much to display, to fist my hands in his hair, to hear him moan my name and make me a part of him.

I can dream, I suppose. Maybe tomorrow he'll realise how irresistible I am.


	2. Smell

**Chapter title:** Smell  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon.  
**Notes:** This time it's the middle of the day, not the middle of the night, so I should be a bit more coherent. And also, when I wrote that one-shot with hints of Taijyou, it got me wondering how many other Taijyou fics there were. So I searched. And mine was the first. _**First **_(there was one other before mine, but it was a friendship fic so it doesn't count). So I'm making it my goal to completely own that pairing. Ken POV again.

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_Week 2_

Today he looked at me.

I got on the train as usual, and made my way into the next carriage. He looked up when I entered, like he always does, but this time he didn't look away. If I had been female, I'm sure my breath would have hitched in my throat and my cheeks would have taken on a colour similar to that of a beetroot. Luckily, I'm not a female. I just looked right back until I'd passed him, and that was that.

I'd never noticed before this encounter, but his eyes are a very similar colour to his hair. They change depending on the light and the angle you're looking at them, as I observed on my way past, ranging between a reddish-brown and a dark chocolate shade. I'm sure that, if I'd been close enough and looked hard enough, I'd have been able to see my own mahogany-tinted reflection in them. In fact, I can quite comfortably compare their shininess to glass.

As I looked at him, I wondered what it was that was making him look at me. There was always the possibility that he'd come to his senses and was staring because of how completely irresistible I am. In all seriousness, it wasn't an entirely unrealistic idea; I'd be able to get any girl I wanted, if I wanted one. He shouldn't be any different. He should have been throwing himself at my feet, actually, begging me to touch him.

Of course, he wasn't yet. But with any luck it wouldn't be long.

The other, more probable reasons for his staring were the good old clichés such as me having something on my face. That one had been my first thought, and as soon as I'd reached my usual seat I took out a compact mirror from my bag and checked. There was nothing noticeably wrong, just an eyelash on my cheek. I checked my hair too, in case it had gone stupid, but it looked fine. Better than fine, even; my hair is always impeccable. I wouldn't have stepped onto the train if it was anything less than perfect. I'm not a vain person, but I refuse to allow myself to be seen by that gorgeous boy if I don't look my best. I need to keep his interest, after all.

Something else I'd realised as I passed him today was that he smelled really nice. I was truly at a loss as to why I'd never noticed it before, because it was one of the most enticing things I'd ever smelt. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it smelt of, exactly, but it must have been a combination of really strong shampoo and cologne. When he succumbs to my dashing good looks and mysterious aura and starts speaking to me, I'll have to ask him what he uses. Or, even better, I'll tell him to make himself smell like that every day.

Truthfully though, today was almost the single most embarrassing day I've ever had. I was so caught up with his eyes and his scent that I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking. I've never been good at walking in straight lines, and I was heading straight toward one of the bins that are wedged into the walls on trains. It was a good thing he looked away when he did; it allowed me to start paying attention again and realise what I was about to do in time to move. It had been a very close call, and I'm glad that he hadn't been watching when it happened because I wouldn't have been able to look at him again for at least a fortnight.

That'd be a big shame.

Even as I sit here now, I can smell him. It's as if that scent has wafted into my head and become firmly embedded in my brain. I shouldn't be able to smell him, not in my own home. Not that I'm complaining; I'd much rather be able to smell that tantalizing mixture of products he uses than the car exhaust fumes that force their way into my room during the rush hour. One could almost describe it as relaxing; the kind of oil you'd be able to smell at a massage parlour. It does, however, make it difficult to think of anything except him. I was having trouble keeping my thoughts away from him as it was, what with his beautiful eyes and spectacular body. I didn't need his smell interfering with my head too.

He's there every time I close my eyes now. I'll blink and I'll see him behind my eyelids for that split-second, just looking at me with big eyes. When listening in school is too boring to bear and I lean my forehead on my desk, he's there. What he's doing depends on how I'm feeling that day. Sometimes I'll be feeling tranquil; those are the times that I'll just see him sitting on the train as usual. Although, more often than not, I'll be restless. These are the times that I'll see him getting himself off, caught up in the ecstasy and God, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

He's getting under my skin on purpose, I'm sure of it. I don't know why he's doing it, but he's succeeding with the greatest of ease. It's getting to the point where something needs to be done to deal with it. I'm not sure yet how I'll handle it or what I'll do, but I want to be absolutely sure that I've etched myself into his brain as much as he has to mine.


	3. Sound

**Chapter title: **Sound  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Digimon.  
**Notes: **Y'know, I'm quite attached to this fic. I want to keep writing it forever, but I only plan on having two more chapters after this one. Oh well, I guess they say that all good things come to an end, don't they? It's a shame that this was only going to be a short thing to get rid of my block; I've been so caught up in wanting to write pairings no one's ever seen before that I forgot how much I love Daiken. Also, my shoulder is peeling. It's horrid unpleasant.

* * *

_Week 3_

The infatuation I have with this boy is becoming unbearable.

He was on the phone when I walked past him today; I took it as an excuse to stare at him for a bit longer. Those who are preoccupied are far less likely to notice something as insignificant as that. I watched him chatter away in an animated fashion. I think it's safe to assume that he was talking to a friend, as the subject of the conversation seemed to be a basketball game that had gone well. He certainly had no qualms about badmouthing the opposing side, I discovered, when I heard a number of rather colourful words being used to describe one particular member of the other team.

I had passed him and sat down in my usual seat before I could establish whether the words he was using applied to that person because he didn't like him, or merely because he had been playing against him. Either way, hearing language like that coming from his mouth had brought quite a few (unwelcome at the time, but not anymore now that I'm alone) ideas into my head. The more I think about those ideas while I'm away from the train, the more flesh they seem to have to them. I keep conjuring up different ways that I could make him say those words in bed; of course, the more preferable ways would require me to first find his weak spots. Not that I'm complaining. I think exploring him in such a way would be a highly enjoyable experience.

One thing I can't get out of my mind was his amazing voice, whether he was using it to swear or not. Had I not been collected and prepared for anything he might decide to throw at me, I might have been reduced to some kind of blubbering heap on the floor. That would _not_ have been attractive, and I would have had a hard time afterwards convincing him that he really does want me. But anyone else with an ear for beautiful sounds would have felt the same way as I did about it; while it was alluring it wasn't deep and smooth, but instead had a raspy sort of texture to it. It was like nothing I'd ever heard before, and I was going to make damn sure that I heard it again.

However; today, it wasn't his voice that really got to me. Yes, it was amazing and yes, at this precise moment I want nothing more than to hear him screaming my name, but something far more remarkable happened. He did glance up at me, as per usual, and caught my eye. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Since he was on the phone, I expected him to turn away again even faster than he usually did in order to completely focus on his conversation again. That was not what he did. Instead he held my gaze for a few extra seconds and smiled at me.

He smiled at me.

It was only a friendly, polite smile. The kind of smile you'd justify giving to an acquaintance if you passed them on the stairs or saw them in the town. The one that says 'I'm trying to be civil, but I don't actually know you so I won't speak to you'. But it was a smile nonetheless, and it was also a fascinating new development. The butterflies in my stomach were brought full-force back to life making it difficult for me to do very much. I had to smile back, of course; I'd have regretted it forever if I hadn't. It was just that the newly initiated heat all over me was making even this simple action rather difficult to do.

I had to literally recompose myself before I could manage to smile back at him. My inner battle didn't show, courtesy of my ability to control myself sufficiently, which is a good thing really. I can't have him thinking that he's got the upper hand in this. It wouldn't be right. My mental struggles with the way he makes me feel have got to stay just that: _mental._ Not physical, not outward, not anything that'd he'd be able to pick up on. When I think about this, I'm glad that being a genius isn't completely made up of downsides and disadvantages. It means that I'm perfectly capable of restraining myself and my lust until I see fit to stop.

The smile I gave to him wasn't quite the same as the smile he gave me. Oh no; his smile was courteous and respectful. Mine was on the slightly more predatory side, like how a tiger might smile at an antelope it was planning to have for dinner. It was the only kind of smile I could manage at the time, since my mind was already in the gutter and he'd just disrupted my insides. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind too much; he just accepted that it was a smile and went back to his conversation. It would have been nice if he'd caught on and the smiles had developed into something a bit more physical, but unfortunately that wasn't the way things went.

It is, however, the way things _will_ go if I have my way; and believe you me, I always get my way. I will not let ignorance on his part stop me getting what I want.


	4. Touch

**Chapter title: **Touch  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Digimon.  
**Notes: **Righto. This chapter marks something very special for me, as it contains my 100,000th uploaded word. That means that I'm officially a tenth of the way to writing something acceptable. How good's that? And also, if there are any unusual pairings anybody wants to see more of, please tell me. I can't decide which ones to use for my other upcoming fics by myself. Cheers.

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_Week 4_

Today, when he invited me to sit with him, I was glad for my ability to school my expression.

In fact, if it weren't for this talent, I may very well have been reduced to a gaping puddle on the floor of the train at the mere thought that he'd spoken to me at all. At the very least, I'd have stopped in my tracks, my mouth falling open and finding myself unable to stop staring at him in bewilderment. How completely embarrassing that would have been. But it was a most unexpected turn of events, and I believe I would have been excused if I had less self control and had reacted that way.

Fortunately, I am not an idiot and I could control myself with relative ease. To tell the truth, there weren't many other options available to me; the train was abnormally busy. A clean-shaven man in a smart suit with a briefcase huddled on his lap, a businessman, had taken my usual seat. And, aside from the seat next to the boy, there were only two other free places in that carriage if I didn't want to be standing up, and both of them were adjacent to overweight, scowling men who looked as if they hadn't so much as seen a shower in the better part of six months. It wasn't something I wanted to endure for the twenty minutes it would take me to reach Tamachi station, and not particularly keen to explore the rest of the carriages for a slightly less crowded empty seat, I took the boy up on his offer.

Of course, I would have accepted anyway. I was certainly not going to be the fool to refuse such an invitation from someone so deliciously tempting.

So I sat next to him and deliberately brushed my arm against his. He burned me through my shirt without even realising he was doing it, and it was wonderful. I silently hoped that he wouldn't move away and he didn't; he just smiled at me, with that same, friendly, easy smile I'd seen him send my way before. "Hey."

I can't even begin to express how excellent it was that he was speaking to me. I must have already mentioned, on countless occasions, how pleased I am that I'm not a giddy schoolgirl, but all the thanks from those times put together couldn't compare to the gratitude I felt for it today. It was brilliantly effortless to look back at him and smile in a way that clearly stated all the intentions I had for him. "Hey."

I certainly didn't expect our conversation to go beyond the boundaries of a simple greeting; my more realistic side had already assumed that he would turn to look out of the window, and that would be the end of that. This was why I, sadly, couldn't help but jump in my seat a little when he spoke again. "I see you every day."

His words were short, blunt and to the point. That's what I like. Especially when they're spoken in that gorgeous, raspy voice he's been blessed with. It was a shame that I'd made the mistake of letting myself be caught off guard, really. He might have thought he was frightening me, when in actual fact nothing could be farther from the truth. Even if I wanted to move, I wouldn't have been able to. He was looking at me, keeping me locked in place, and he smelled so appetising that it was all I could do not to ravish him then and there. As much as I wouldn't have minded getting dirty with him in public, he might have had somewhat different opinions and I had no intention of taking a risk like that.

"I know that," I answered him, "I see you too. You always sit here."

The one thing I wanted to avoid at all costs was to sound or seem like a stalker. Nothing is less attractive than an obsession, after all. But as far as I was concerned, he wouldn't have thought it strange for me to know that he sits in the same spot every day. He knew I walked through there, so it's only natural that I should notice him as well. Unless he expected me to be some kind of ignorant cad, which I refused to act like.

We sat in a contented silence before he spoke again. "What's your name?"

"Ken."

I didn't ask him his name in return right away; I was a little more concerned with the unawareness on my part which I hadn't even acknowledged until that moment. How was it possible that I hadn't known his name prior to this encounter? It was just…inconceivable. And then, when I thought about it, I really didn't know anything about him. I knew what he looked like, and I knew what he smelt like and I knew what he sounded like, but what about his personality? I didn't know what sports he plays, I didn't know what kind of people he likes, I didn't know if he had a girlfriend or not. The only reason I knew which school he goes to was because I recognised the distinct uniform. I didn't even know his name, so I had to ask, and when I did he replied, "Daisuke."

He shuffled a little in his seat, his arm moving against mine and setting my skin on fire. Anybody who wasn't paying attention would have missed the tiny bit of distance he erased between us, but not me. My senses were alight. There was nothing he could do while I was sitting so close to him that would escape my notice.

When I looked up and saw him still smiling at me, I grinned and eyed him up and down, from his sneaker clad feet to his shining, burgundy hair. Daisuke, I thought, the name purring in my mind, we're going to have so much fun together. You'd better prepare yourself.


	5. Taste

**Chapter title: **Taste  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Digimon.  
**Notes: **Last one! I don't wanna stop writing this though, I enjoy it too much. Oh well, it had to finish sooner or later. Besides, I've run out of senses to use as chapter titles now. Enjoy the Daiken. And also, once again, I beg and plead for suggestions of unusual pairings I can use for other fics I have planned. Cheers.

* * *

_Week 5_

He's not on the train today.

He hasn't been on the train all week, and it's beginning to make me despair. I do hope he hasn't caught any horrible diseases, as that would definitely put a damper on my intentions. At the very least I would have to put everything off until a later date, when he has returned to full health and is once again a regular passenger on this train; our conversation last week ended far too abruptly for my liking, and I hadn't the time to get any details such as his address from him. I didn't even manage to get a number, so I have no way of knowing where he is or what he's doing.

A voice echoes through the carriage: '_Odaiba. This is Odaiba. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.' _This is usually when I'd see him stand up, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, and step off the train after edging carefully out of his seat. It's one of the highlights of the journey, as he doesn't walk so much as sway. And allow me to assure you, there is little which is more attractive than a swaying Daisuke.

Daisuke. I still can't quite get my head around how I hadn't known that was his name before. How did I manage to think about him so much and not once, even idly, consider the fact that I didn't know what he was called? It's absolutely insane.

For the whole journey I can't think of anything but him. I stare at the reflection of the empty seat he normally occupies from my spot a few seats back, at each stop hoping that no one else will sit in it, and wonder where he's been. I hope he hasn't moved house; it'd be a nightmare trying to find him again. But the more I think about it, the more likely that unpleasant possibility seems to become. The only other reason I can think of is illness, and he didn't seem the type to be prone to infectious diseases.

'_Tamachi. This is Tamachi. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.'_ I step off the train and, as I make my way towards the station exit, try to come up with a solution. If he's moved house, I'll need to find him in the phone book. To do that, however, I'll need to know his last name. I'm sure I'll be able to find him on the internet somewhere. And even then, his address won't be listed under 'surname D'; it'll be under the initial of one of his parents. So I'll need to know which of them has a son named 'Daisuke', which will be a little tricky to find out. And all this only matters if he has indeed moved house. If he hasn't…I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But first things first; I need to find out what his last name is.

I've barely set foot outside the station when I'm being roughly pulled back in again and herded into a dark corner.

I'm about to say something very unpleasant; being prevented from going home when I have important Daisuke-related things to be getting on with is not a regular occurrence, but on the rare occasion that it does happen it tends to make me very irate. Especially when it's carried out in such a brutal fashion. I mean, really; what have I done to deserve being deprived of time to think about the gorgeous creature I usually spend a fifteen minute train journey with every day?

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but then I see just _who_ it is who has me pinned into the uncomfortable corner and my mouth refuses to move. Those brown, hazy eyes are staring into mine, and they're so close that I can't see anything else.

"You're doing this on purpose," Daisuke accuses.

I can't argue, due to having been rendered completely speechless. There's no way I could possibly talk when he's looking at me like that, with his breath on my face, and he's so close that his scent is overpowering. It's all I can do to stand there, held upright by his hands burning against my shoulders and feeling embarrassed at my own lack of control when I hear myself gulp.

"Admit it," he continues, "you're tormenting me deliberately."

I'm awfully tempted not to answer, just so he'll speak again, but under these circumstances that simply isn't an option. I can't have him getting pissed and storming off, not now. If we were on the train then perhaps I wouldn't have minded, or maybe even enjoyed watching, but this is the best opportunity I'm ever likely to get. I will not be the fool to pass it up in favour of something so mundane.

Nevertheless, it takes quite a bit of effort on my part to get any words out at all. "On the contrary; I believe you'll find that this is your fault."

"My fault?" He leans closer; a millimetre further and our noses would be touching. "I'm not the one who flaunts himself at me every day!"

I blink, realising something that perhaps I should have realised before this point, and inadvertently change the subject. "What're you doing here?"

Yes, I think that's a valid point. Daisuke lives in Odaiba, not Tamachi. He has no real reason to be here.

"What am I doing?" He leans back again and I find myself missing the proximity. "It's your fault; you're making me do this."

"I'm making you do nothing."

"I even stopped getting the train to make you go away, but you wouldn't," he laughs, tightening his grip on my shoulders and causing my breath to hitch in my throat. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Unable to help myself, my gaze drops to his pouting lips and I impulsively lick my own.

"I've got to have you."

That's when everything stops. It's the last thing I hear before he crushes himself against me almost painfully, fisting his hands in my hair and forcing his tongue into my mouth. My immediate reaction is a very positive one; it feels wonderful, and he tastes so good that I can't get enough of it. But it's not right, so before it goes any further I switch our positions so that I'm the one pressing him to the wall, the kiss broken and both of us panting heavily.

"I hate to burst your bubble," I say, "but I've waited too long to let that happen. If _anybody's_ having someone, it's going to be me."

And then there are no more words; instead there's just the overwhelming heat, passion and mindless want. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I knew he'd give in to me.


End file.
